Sunday, December 12, 2010

“Koorly.”
“Eh? “
“It is very koorly.”
“What is what?”
“Your hair is very koorly.”
“Hair is what?”
“Koorly koorly! Your hair is very koorly.”

Getting a haircut has never been a good time for me. Staring at the faces of 10 other people, all of them of varying degrees of boring sophistication, while waiting for my turn has never done any good for my nerves. What was happening now was not helping the matters one bit.

It must have showed on my face. For when sliding out of the chair I said, “Hey, I think I am done”, my friend interrupted.

“No it’s not done. She is just saying that your hair is very curly.”

God bless his soul. For that gave me enough strength to go through another 744 seconds of my haircut.

She was a charming old lady, probably of East European origin. But for all I knew, she could be a witch from medieval times casting a spell on me with a razor hovering near my throat. Bloody immigrants, I thought. Then I though, that would be me too. So I took it back.

And that is when I decided that I have had enough haircuts to last me for some time. Thankfully I was on the east coast then.

Let me put this on record here. I am fond of long hair. I am even fonder of clean hair. And scalp that does not itch due to heat and humidity is an absolute necessity in life. That is why, all my life while in India, I have been the butt of jokes for my millimeter long hair.

When I was a kid a well meaning friend of mine once innocently enquired about the cobbler that gave me the haircut.

Anyways, few months later, I came back to India on vacation. Now I am not the one to give unnecessary shocks to my folks, mostly because I give them some necessary ones once in a while. So I decided on getting my hair trimmed before I went home.

I enquired about a nice saloon which could take care of it and many months after the last time, I went in for a haircut. There was this hair expert whom I was referred to. My heart sank the moment I saw his face. All of them have looked sinister to me, but this one was more so.

He made me sit in the chair, appraised my head for a moment and started the conversation.

“How did you grow your hair?”
“I did nothing.”
“They are nice, you must have done something.”
“Really, I just did not get it cut.”
“Oh ok. For how long?”
“Few months, don’t remember exactly. “ I didn’t want to remember my last time.
“No problem. I think you have got your hair curled?”
“I did nothing.” Chill ran down my spine. If almost heard kurly.
“Anyways, I think you should not cut your hair.”
“Thank you. I will leave now.”
“No, don’t leave. I think you should get your hair straightened.”
I gasped for breath.

Let’s take a pause here. I had lived almost all my life in small town India. A saloon has always meant a quick haircut. A barber has always been a barber to me and not a hair expert. Get in, get it mowed, pay 5 rupees (15 now) and get out. Snap! Nice and cool. And everyone who meets you will know that you have had a haircut.

As it is, the presence of a hair expert was making me nervous. This suggestion took my breath away.

Since this place has been highly recommended and deep in my heart even I did not want to trim my hair, I steeled my resolve and decided on continue the discussion.

“How much time will it take?”
“Thirty minutes, may be forty five. It depends.”
“Ok. So you are saying that in an hour’s time I will have permanently straight hair?”
“Yes absolutely. All the big actors have it done. Even John Abraham has it done. “ He counted a few more such names that I don’t remember now.
“How much does it cost?” Right now I was holding my breath. I had never spent more than 15 rupees in to get a haircut in India.
“It will take between 2 and 3 thousands now and about 1500 or so for touch ups every 6 months. It again depends. We will analyze your hair, create a hair profile and then compare with your face and then we can decide.” With this he threw in some technical jargon, which probably he only knew.

The shock at the initial cost was overwhelmed by the shock of the prospect of going through this again.

“Touch ups? But you said it was permanent.”
“Yes, it is. It is permanent for six months.”

That day I went back and looked into the dictionary. Permanent still meant permanent.

“I think I will get a simple trimming.”
“But a straight long hair will look good on you." By this time he was touching my face and trying to arrange my hair in a way which he thought would look when it is straight. At least I like to think that is what he was trying to do.

I was about at the end of the tether.

“I think I need to think about it. I will come again later." I was stealthily moving out of the chair.
“It’s ok; you can get a simple trim that too will work.” He said. He seemed to be having a slow business that day.

I slid back into the chair. He started wetting my hair.

“What do you do?” He started the conversation again.
“I work for a software firm.” More than this, I have never been able to explain to anyone.
“Yours is such a glamorous job. Many of your colleagues get such exclusive styling done here. We have so many customers from your industry. I really think you should get the hair straightened.”
“Please keep your trap shut and get over it already.” That is what I wanted to say, but by this time he had his scissors ready. And common sense stopped me. All I did was mumble.

“Hmm.”
“All the big actors have curly hair, but they get it straightened. Yours is such a glamorous job. You should have got it done. It’s permanent.”
“Hmm. I think even your profession is so glamorous. How much more time will it take?”

And so the ordeal lasted for about 1432 seconds. At the end of it I was lighter by 150 rupees and was not lighter by any perceptible amount of hair. No one would know that I have had a haircut.

And sure enough next evening when I met my dad, first thing he enquired about was the duration since I have seen a barber. I deftly escaped answering this. But early next morning dad asked me to get something from the market and get a haircut on my way back.

So there I was back at my childhood barber shop. A brisk hair cut in 10 minute, including the waiting time. Only the rate was up from last time. I had to pay 20 rupees now.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

When I started this blog, I wrote a couple of posts about Dan Brown and the Lost Symbol. Go ahead and read them if you have nothing better to do (here and here). I promised to write about the latest book once I read it. Since I have read all Dan Brown books, even the ones before Robert Langdon stories, this should have been easy and natural. But the problem is that between then and now, I have read some awesome literature. I have been amazed at how some of them have such intricately woven plots, or how some of them would pull even the most neutral reader into the scene just by sheer power of words. Or even books of essays that starts with an idea and builds on it with such irrefutable arguments that you either agree or are forced to think about it and then agree.

But since I keep my promises, I read the book.

And boy it was a different kind of experience. I am so brain dead that I don’t know what to write. May be it’s the fear of going over the stuff I read in my mind over again. I don't even find it as much fun making fun of it as I did in those old posts.

A book review is going to be too late now. But what I can and will tell you is the most important thing that I take out of this experience. There are two actually.

First thing first. This is an old wine in a new bottle. Just that this time someone forgot to cork the bottle properly.

You can take this idea of symbology only so far. Sooner or later you will exhaust all the words from ancient languages that can have an open interpretation. And once you do, you are going to be repetitive and painful. That is what this book is. A severely watered down version of Da Vinci Code.

The most frightening thing about the book is that at places even the author seems to be not enjoying it. That is the worst feeling that you can give to the reader.

When you refer back to your own old works over and over again, it’s bad. When it’s “the lost word” you are looking for and still title the book lost symbol, it’s bad. When in the end you take the reader down a thousand steps, just to inform that the lost word is a bible which is there somewhere around, its awesomely rotten after about 500 pages. If your story has two set of people, who believe and who don’t, don’t give me a main character (Katherine Solomon) which changes sides over and over again without so much of a warning.

And please, please, please don’t tell me in detail every little thought in the brain of a dying person. It might be fun and thoughtful, it just happens to insult my intelligence. I would rather you give me the taste of cyanide and make it firsthand this time.

So that was it people, about the book.

Here are my take-away from the experience. Sometimes staring blankly in the void can be the most awesome idea.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Few weeks back I watched this movie called Peepli [Live]. Now if you are in India and have not heard about this movie, then it’s probably because

You live under a rock in the middle of Thar desert

You tribe lives in one of the protected jungles

You are illiterate, blind, deaf, all of these

You live in a different country (at least you think so) called Tamilnadu

You live in Bombay (which is almost not India, even if you think so), and only poverty you have known is in the slums (which is more of squalor, more about unaffordable real estate and less of actual ‘going without food’ poverty).

Take your pick.

This movie is about a brother duo, who happens to be small farmers in some village in the Hindi heartland. And by extension very poor. They have mortgaged their small strip of land for their mother’s medical expenses. Since they cannot repay the loan, one of them, Natha Das Manikpuri, decides to commit suicide to get the compensation from the government.

What follows is a huge drama over the suicide, played by the frenzied media and the wily politicians. Of which the movie is touted to be a satire over. And it’s a very finely done satire. Not too understated and not overtly loud. This fine satire is the most likable thing about the movie.

You laugh through the movie and in the end go home with a compelling issue or two to think about.

While I can tell a thousand likable things about the movie like the real characters, the almost real story, the fabulous presentation and the immaculate attention to details, I will not.

That is because this post is not about reviewing the movie. Which I wanted to do but got too lazy about.

This post is just to draw attention to the current drama in the news media. The case in point my people is, the flooding of Yamuna River and the imminent floods in Delhi. Although waters did not enter the city, but we got severely flooded by all the ‘exclusive and by the minute’ reports of the water levels of Yamuna and how far above the danger mark it is flowing.

What pisses me off is to hear every day for last two weeks that by 4 pm (or near about on different days) the water will be flowing 2 meters above the danger mark. Every single day.

Monday (before 4 pm): another 2.5 cusecs of water has been released and by 4 pm Yamuna will be flowing 2 meters above the danger mark. Monday (after 4 pm): water is currently flowing at 1.8 meters above the danger mark. Will be above 2 meters above danger mark by 4 am.

Tuesday (before 4 pm): another 1 cusec of water has been released and by 4 pm Yamuna will be flowing 2 meters above the danger mark. Tuesday (after 4 pm): water is currently flowing at 1.8001 meters above the danger mark. Will be above 2 meters above danger mark by 4 am.

……………..

……………..

Friday (before 4 pm): another bout of rains and by 4 pm Yamuna will be flowing 2 meters above the danger mark. Friday (after 4 pm): water is currently flowing at 1.899 meters above the danger mark. Will be above 2 meters above danger mark by 4 am.

And all of a sudden today, water has started to recede. Despite huge rainfall in the city.

If you have been feeling acute concerns about the floods in Delhi, hold on for now. You have been duped. And I wonder if you will be really concerned if it really happened. What with having exploited out of all your emotional juice.

Besides, how this flood will put the commonwealth games in jeopardy, as if it is not already. But that is another drama in its own right.

Or how dengue will be an epidemic, like it is not already.

The high point of all this is this: one fine day the news anchor is waxing eloquent about how water is above 2 meters above danger mark, a caption just next to his face showing 2.01 or some such number. And the news flash at the bottom of the screen shows 1.8 meters.

Well, we all need to know and hold on to the high points when there is flood at your door steps.

Talking of high points, one high point in the movie is this: Natha goes for the ablutions and goes absconding from thereon. Bereft of a subject, one of the news team camping there goes on to broadcast the analysis of color and consistency of Natha’s poop. That apparently helps to determine the emotional and psychological state of the person.

That was at least hilarious.

If you have friends and family in Delhi, don’t worry. They are perfectly safe. Unless they have been meditating in a tent on banks of Yamuna. In that case they deserved it.

Water logging in low lying areas is only a little worse than what you get after a day of good rainfall.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

There are stories that you go about telling people the moment after they happen. Then there are personal stories you want to keep to yourself and never forget. Until one day you realize you are forgetting the details. That is when you go ahead and write about it in your blog.

If you read the blogs by expats in India, you will invariably come across the shock and reluctant awe they have about the sight of Indian men peeing in the open. Roadside, sidewalks, by lanes. You know, anywhere basically. As this is an issue of profound importance, it will not be taken up on this blog. But the story that you are about to read is about the fact that it happens in America too. It surely happened at least once.

Now that we have established the need for this story to be told, let me get on to the story.

This happened few years back in America with a smart and young IT guy. Let’s call him X. X had to fly out of town for three days to meet his folks. Since the cab drive to and fro to the airport would cost almost same as the three day parking at the airport, X decided to drive to the airport.

Now X is one of those guys who suffer from a major ailment in his life. The instinct in animals and human kind that helps them differentiate between East and North does not work right with him. What is worse is that it works. Hence malfunctions.

Having accepted this malady as a fact of life, X is used to taking all precautions pertaining to finding ways when venturing out alone. With a route map to the airport he has been to at least ten time before and setting apart an hour to find the way if he gets lost, X set forth. Like most of the IT geeks, X was a drinking man too. A water drinking man actually, always found with a water bottle with him.

The journey to the airport went well for the most part, until X trusted his instincts over the map (ah! The irony) and took a familiar looking exit from the highway and well, he was lost into an unknown town.

Since this was nothing new to him, X drank some water to calm the nerves and looked for a gas station. He found one, got a cola and asked the directions to the highway. Happily he hit the road again. But this time it was different. X was still lost.

After asking for directions thrice at three different gas stations and finally being nervous about the exhausting the extra hour spared for finding the way back, he finally hit the highway.

At this point his mind was racing, consuming most of the blood supply in the body and consequently causing the bladder to lack control. This with lots of fluid in you can only mean trouble. The way was found but the control was lost. Constantly ignoring his instincts rest of the way, sticking to the map and some metal on the pedal, X reached the airport in time for the flight.

Presently flight was only the second most important concern. X had to take care of some very important business before he could enter the terminal. The moment he entered the parking lot, his eyes were darting around looking for the lavatory that was nowhere to be found. Whoever designed the McNamara Airport probably forgot that people might want to go to the bathroom immediately after driving to the airport.

Since entering the terminal and the waiting lounge in wet pants was not an option so X did the best possible thing at the moment. He careened the car next to a big fat pillar on the second floor of the parking lot, came out in a hurry, looked around once and relieved himself next to the pillar. At that exact moment he was probably the happiest person on the planet. Quite possibly on all the planets.

Thus relieved he caught the plane and had an awesome trip. When he came back three days later he had absolutely no trouble in finding the car. He just had to follow his nose.

Now I am not saying that I was X, and I am not saying that I was not. All I am saying is that, I would immediately know that pillar amongst thousand such pillars. I am sure the pillar will know me too.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Few weeks back there was this video of a stick man and a stick woman posted on facebook. Someone amongst my friends or their friends or may be their friends posted it. Can’t remember it now. You know how it is with social networking. You are supposed to be in touch. So much so that you end up forgetting who it was that you touched.

I have been terribly caught up with work for last few weeks now. But I had to write this post about this video that has caught my fancy and made me think about it. So I came back early today to write about it. Yeah, nine in the evening IS early. It just depends on the perception.

I digress no more.

So here was this video with this song playing in the background and Mr. Stick Man and Ms. Stick Woman enacting the song. Not only on facebook but every lady and not any man I have known went so ooh aah about this song. I completely understand. Here is the song. It’s a good ol’ song by good ol’ Adam Sandler. Yeah the same funny man. But this song was not sung in jest.

I wanna make you smile
Whenever you're sad
Carry you around when your arthritis is bad
All i wanna do, is grow old with you

I'll get you medicine when your tummy aches
Build you a fire if the furnace breaks
So, it could be so nice growing old with you,....

I'll miss you
Kiss you
Give you my coat when you are cold
Need you
Feed you
Even let you hold the remote control.

So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink
Put you to bed when you've had too much to drink
Oh I could be the man that grows old with you
I wanna grow old with you.

This might be a man’s world but when it comes to romance my fellow men you are a mockingbird. You know, they don't kill you mainly because you do no harm. You don't do one thing but sing your hearts out.

That is all that I am going to say about this. Of course apart from this little advice to Mr. Stick Man. Dear Stick Man if you really wanna grow old with the Stick Lady, like you sing, you got to catch up pretty fast. What with arthritis and heavy drinking she is almost all ready there.

As for me, letting you hold the remote control is a deal breaker anyway! But for starters you could sing that song for me.

Updated:My good fried Vibha is furious over this post (see comments). That makes me think I should have written more here, rather than leaving it to the readers interpretation. But then, I can always update my own post, right? I updated a few things in the main part. And the rest is here.

Did you notice that this song is not about some abstract idea of love and heart and all the nice things in between. Its about the fact of growing old with someone (that in my opinion is a very very big commitment,) while one party taking taking full responsibility of the well being of the other. If there is any such commitment from the lady, I can't figure that out from the song. Now when it comes to it, I am not aware of any such song.

While at that have you ever noticed, how there are so less songs (I don't know any, like I said before) with same idea from the point of view of a woman. Despite the fact that men are built to fare worse when they grow old.

Now what are my options here, crib about it, just accept it, demand an equal commitment (in the title) or make fun of it. I chose the last few.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Quite a few things happen in our lives in only few days. Small things really, when compared to the long lives that people live. Things small enough not to fill up a dedicated post. Here is a small compilation.

My last manager GC left for higher studies. After eleven long years, starting as a fresher, in the same organization, I suspect it was boredom that took him. But he was a great manager. You can tell that by the fact that I had about six months of peaceful time with him. He surely knew what he was talking about. At the farewell lunch he was wondering what to take from here. I offered myself. But he refused. Apparently he wanted to take only nice things from here. But I can be nice too, if paid well.

I am still hoping that I would get together with some of my friends that left for US of A.

Entire Polish leadership wiped away in a plane crash.

Then my manager’s manager’s manager left for god knows what. Knowing him, one could safely say he would make something out of his life outside of IT. The philosophical guy that he was, I for one would be surprised if he does not. One of his oft stated idea was “one has to be unfair to be fair”. I disagree, but that’s another post if I get around to it. I always wonder how close we would have been but for the quarterly ‘group name calling’ against me that used to happened in his office. Good luck RH. I believe that the nice guys are the ones that make it.

I still hope to go back to school.

A junior colleague and good friend SSM is quitting and joining his dream organization. Always knew that he is not cut for IT services. Soon I won’t get to see him every day.

Two gang-rapes in the city within a week. Thank fully not by the expats in the state, else it would have been carnage by the self styled local armies for protecting the local culture from bad influence from people from Bihar and UP.

A friend took time out of her super busy schedule to give me a guilt trip. I appreciate it, but there isn’t going to be another chance. This is it.

I moved to another building at work. This has super cold meeting rooms. I like to think that it’s a nice way of cutting down on all ready cold meetings.

A gay professor suspended by one of the most reputed universities in the country. For being gay. The guy died a few days later. We still don’t know if it was a suicide.

Seventy six paramilitary personnel butchered by the naxals. Guess this is the time for the State to unleash its power.

Last weekend on Bombay airport, a lady friend of mine remarked that I looked hot. Well dear, it must have been humid too. It’s not me, that’s how the climate in Bombay is.

So you see folks, life does move on. And we have tomorrow and the day after. And we still hope that it will be better with lesser plane crashes, no more people going away and lesser rapes. Of course I would want to be called hot, only in slightly cooler climes. Just to take care of the ambiguity.

By the way, the question was, “What is the most intriguing thing about life?”

Friday, February 12, 2010

When I wrote the last time on this blog, I remember a wooly mammoth walking by my window. We don’t see too many of them these days. I think it’s been a long time since I wrote.

By the way mammoths were not really mammoth size wise. They were smaller than the current day elephants which don’t pass by the windows. I don’t know if any one actually harvested wool from the wooly parts of the mammoth but I am surely amused by the genius in calling a cute little (little compared to elephants which don’t walk by the windows) thing as ‘wooly’ mammoth. Some would point out a lurking greed in the act; I say it’s an inspired imagination.

When I enquired about why these elephants are not walking by, I found that they have been really busy in hauling logs, going to safaris, blessing people in temples and jingling those thick iron chains tied to their feet. Someone told me that they are actually trying to break free, but I think that the jingling of those chains is rather amusing. They, of course, do all of this when they are not supplying ivory. Busy folks these elephants are, I can tell you.

If you thought elephants were big, I recommend a view of the big ugly whales. At least you will be accurate when you tell your kids about them. I recommend that you go see them fast. These days these guys are doing nothing much of use but dying. Just as well. They have lots of fat and take too much space anyways.

To top it, these whales eat too much. We are going to need all that food soon. You do need lots of energy to go shopping to those whooping big malls. How far do you think is the time when all the fields and the jungles will be paved? One needs lots of space for the malls and the roads leading to the malls and other industrial hubs.

Killing those big ugly whales seems so good and apt. We can eat their food to enjoy the beautiful creations we make on the space where we are growing food now. It all falls into place.

Coming back to the business of busy elephants; busy in taking people on elephant safaris. Most of these safaris are the attempts of some fools to spot these stupid tigers. These fools go ecstatic if they manage to spot one of these furtive animals. Once in a life time thing all right, but what is the use. The real smart people, anyways, find them easily and kill them.

Hats off to these smart people otherwise known as poachers (and I don’t know why). These guys are doing a great service by eliminating such dangerous animals. Tigers are known to attack the livestock and even the people who live in the protected tiger reserves. I say, raze the jungles and kill the tigers. We need to grow some wheat there before we will need to build a factory on the land and call it a special economic zone.

Thanks to our brave poachers we have 1411 (i.e. one thousand four hundred and eleven) tigers only. But the last leg is left, before we are ridden of such nefarious creature. Given the work done in past, I would give it but a few years.

I just hope one of them passes by my window before they go the way of saber tooth tigers. More about them later.

P.S:They say satire is the lowest form of humor, but such is the situation. I have seen a tiger once. And the majestic thing that it is, even after so many years I can remember all details. And now we are looking at the possibility of not having them in a generation or two. Unless we do something about it.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Last year has not been the best ever in my life. I would want to forget it in a hurry. Except that I managed to read 26 books in a very tumultuous year.
Coming up with this count took me some time. So I thought why not create a list and keep adding to it. Here is the list.

Heaven's Command : An Imperial Progress by Jan Morris (History)

The Life and Times of The Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson (Memoir)

If God Was a Banker by 'I dont care, really' (Me too an MBA) (Pratyush says: Dont touch it even with a pole)

I Too Had a Love Story by Ravinder Singh (Love Story)

Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama (Memoir)

The Argumentative Indian by Amartya Sen (Economics/Philosophy/History)

BPO Sutra by Sudhindra Mokhasi (compilation of Indian BPO stories)

Love Story by Erich Segal (Romance)

The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama (Politics)

Not Without My Daughter by Betty Mahmoody with William Hoffer (Memoir)

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (Adventure Classic)

Six Suspects by Vikas Swarup (Whodunnit)

India Unbound by Gurcharan Das (Political/economic)

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Galaxy by Douglas Adams (Sci-fi/comedy)

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams (Sci-fi/comedy)

Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (Memoir of soul searching through 3 countries. A good one)